A Devil's Atonement
by Spike Daft
Summary: Gabriel Van Helsing's oldest friend and enemy is returned to earth, only to discover that his world, and himself, have drastically changed.
1. Chapter One: In Shadow

A Devil's Atonement 

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**Chapter One: In Shadow**

The streetlights had been on for more than an hour by the time Van Helsing emerged, yawning, from his little flat in Rome, a few blocks from the Vatican itself. Still groggy from his nap, he turned and checked the doorknob to make sure he had locked the door. Satisfied that he had, he placed an almost loving hand on the dark wooden door, and after a moment to collect his thoughts stepped away into the foggy night.

            Cardinal Jinette and the other members of the Holy Order had allowed him the small flat when he had informed them of his discomfort with living in the perpetual crowd that was the headquarters of the Order. The flat was Gabriel Van Helsing's private safehaven. It was rather small for the normal domiciles of the area, which tended to be quite lavish, but Van Helsing was not attracted to lavish things. He liked the simplicity of his home; the books in their bookcase in the study just off the tiny entryway, the even tinier kitchen (he did not often cook). The two rooms off of the straight hallway—one of them his bedroom—were also small, their curtains of heavy red velvet, the windows shuttered for privacy.  It was, in full, a place where he could go when he was weary and leave his troubles on the doorstep.

            Well, most of them, anyway.

            Unfortunately, his troubles were just beginning tonight. Cardinal Jinnette had summoned him to the Vatican for matters undisclosed, and had instructed that he be prepared for a visit to the armoury for new weapons. Van Helsing sighed as he reviewed Jinette's request in his head. If he were getting new weapons, it meant that he was also getting a new assignment. The only bright side of the situation is that he would at least be able to visit his friend, the friar Carl, who worked in the armoury as an inventor. A very _successful_ inventor, he mused, as was learned upon their trip to Transylvania eight months ago. One of his inventions had saved their lives in the ballroom at Budapest; Dracula's "summer palace", as he had put it. His summer palace was very beautiful… and also very full of vampires. Carl's invention that produced a light equal to the intensity of the sun had been useful when there were near a hundred vampires on their heels. They had been vaporized instantly.

            What the little friar lacked in physical prowess, strength, and bravery, he made up for in determination, loyalty, intelligence, and just a touch of brilliance and humour that could never be quite contained. That was why, Van Helsing supposed, that he was such a worthy friend.

            He continued this way, absorbed in his thoughts, until quite suddenly he felt a jolt of something familiar, something not good, deep within him. He jerked himself out of his trance and stood very still, looking around him. He was nearly at the stair of the great building that was the Vatican, and yet there was a trace of something dark very near to him. He turned slowly in a circle, making sure nothing might be coming up behind him, and scoured every bit of darkness that he could. Finally, after a few minutes of this, he spotted something very pale that moved almost imperceptibly in the reservoir of shadow that dwelled beneath the underhangings of the buildings that surrounded the great courtyard.

            Van Helsing was at a loss for what to do. His new weapons were in the armoury, and here he was, standing with something in the shadows, something he could easily approach and fight of need be. But he was unarmed; his pistol was being cleaned at the armoury; he never thought something like this would be _here_, so close to a holy place, and thus he hadn't had any qualms about a walk to the Vatican unarmed. He wanted to go to the armoury, get his weapons, but he feared that whatever it was might escape if he did so.

            He stood in a quandary for a moment, and then his better half took over. _Better to fetch your weapons and risk it getting away than be stuck in a fight with nothing to defend yourself_, he thought, and nodded to himself. Casting a quick glance at the underhangings once more, he turned and mounted the steps of the great building before him. Just before he opened the doors he looked back again; whatever is was seemed to be perfectly happy where it was. Van Helsing sighed and threw open the doors, and was lost from view.

Carl Jinette was his usual self, despite the fact that he was not yet allowed to sleep. Not until Van Helsing had been briefed, of course. They were both men who adhered strictly to their duties, and tonight was no different. Van Helsing entered the confessional as he always did, and as he always did Jinette opened the secret passageway that led them to the armoury. There he told him that a creature was roaming Vatican City itself, and that Van Helsing was their best course of action to get rid of it. When asked if he knew what the creature was exactly, Cardinal Jinette could not say, only that it was reported to be a winged creature whose implements of flight were roughly fifteen feet across, and that it had a habit of swooping down and carrying people off into the night, where their mutilated bodies were later found.

            "Vampire, do you think?" mused Van Helsing, hoping it wasn't.

            "No. We do not think so. Vampires do not mutilate those they drink from, and none of the bodies showed any marks of a vampire's bite… from what we could tell from the bodies, of course."

            "And no one was able to give a better description," said Van Helsing. It was a statement, not a question. Of course they wouldn't; that would make it too easy for him.

            "Everyone who got a look at the creature is dead," hissed Jinette. "Show some respect, Gabriele!"

            "But," said Van Helsing, ignoring the Cardinal's admonishment, "what about the description you _do_ have? Someone had to be alive to tell about it."

            "At the time she was alive, yes," said Jinette sadly. "An old woman, found only a block away from here. She had time to tell me what I told you before God reached out and took her home."

            Van Helsing was silent. Jinette decided it was as good a time as any to lead him down to the armoury, when he left him to Friar Carl. Van Helsing seemed to brighten as Carl approached, and satisfied, Jinette took his leave.

            "Hello, Van Helsing," said Carl brightly as the two clasped hands and shook vigorously. "You haven't been around the church lately, I noticed. Did Jinette give you a reprieve?"

            Van Helsing smiled wryly. "Whether he wanted to or not. I think it was an errant case of good luck on my part; any lack of monsters to kill has to be some holy act or other."

            "But it seems," said Carl, "that your bad luck's returned."

            "So it seems," agreed Van Helsing. "It's a good thing I'm used to it." Suddenly, something struck him mind: he had not told Jinette about the thing he had seen near the steps. That was odd behaviour, even for him, to forget something like that. He turned to the friar. "Hey Carl—did Cardinal Jinette leave for the night?"

            Carl nodded. "I believe he has gone off to bed. Why?"

            "Nothing, no reason," Van Helsing muttered. Carl gave him a quizzical look, but when it became clear that Van Helsing was not going to say anything more about the matter, Carl led him over to the weapons he had laid out for his friend.

Half an hour later Van Helsing left the Vatican, his gun back in its holster, ammunition in the pouch on his belt (including, of course, silver bullets), two blessed daggers and a sword, and an upgraded version of the crossbow he had used on assignment in Transylvania. It felt good to be weighted down with the tools of his trade again, yet considering what the tools of his trade were, Van Helsing wondered idly if feeling pleasure to be carrying them would be considered a sin. In the end he supposed it was, and in the end he didn't really care.

            As he reached the bottom of the steps that odd feeling came over him again, and, remembering, he jerked his head to the spot where he had last seen the white glimmer in the shadows. This time he thought he saw something move slightly, but he could not be sure. Drawing his pistol he crept foreward until he was about ten feet from the spot, and stood eyeing the darkness warily, listening intently. At first he heard nothing, but then…

            A rustle of movement, barely perceptible to even Van Helsing's sharp hearing, and then the faint sound of laboured breathing, which often stopped for long periods of time. Van Helsing held his gun a little higher and began to close the gap between him and the shadow, expecting something to come flying out at him at any moment.

            But nothing did. As Van Helsing was just reaching the underhangings, there came a brittle rasp of laughter from the dark. Van Helsing jumped back and almost fired, but got control of his jerking arm and merely tightened his finger on the trigger.

Then the voice came, soft and velvety, spoken with an accent that made Van Helsing's soul drop to the floor.

            "Hello, Gabriel. Quite a sense of humour has Lucifer, dumping me on the steps of the Vatican itself, do you not think?"


	2. Chapter Two: Of Change and Hatching Plan...

**Author's note: Thanks to those of you who notified me about my little…oopsie. Has been fixed.**

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**Chapter Two: Of Change and Hatching Plans**

            Van Helsing was momentarily at an utter loss for words. A deep sorrow, deeper than he had ever known, filled him. It had all been for nothing. Turning into the werewolf, the suffering of the Frankenstein monster, the death of his beloved Anna. All of it in vain. He soon recovered himself, but that despair remained, that terrible knowledge of the uselessness of his quest. He dimly thought that he should be feeling irrationally angry at the creature before him, but for some strange reason he could not. He knew he had nothing that would kill the count, but he could at least hurt him a little. Yet, again…he could not.

            Instead he merely cleared his throat and spoke. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be dead. I killed you." _Among others…oh God, Anna, I am sorry_.

            Even in the half-light, Van Helsing could clearly see the gentle sadness in Dracula's resultant smile. "Alas, he sent me back."

            "In spite of your failure?" Van Helsing sneered. He hoped his statement had stung the vampire; however, Dracula seemed unperturbed. Gabriel's proverbial shot had missed.

            "He sent me here," said Dracula, "_because_ of my failure."

            Van Helsing's finger tightened further on the trigger, and was surprised to see Dracula grimace. "Tell me why," he hissed, "or I'll give you a couple silver bullets to think about."

            "He sent me back here this time as punishment," said Dracula, sounding defeated. "I was stripped of many of my powers. Though I do not know what can kill me now, I know that werewolves cannot. It seems as though he has made it impossible for me to die, yet he has made it possible for me to feel pain again. He intends for me to suffer. He started early, of course. Lucifer is very punctual." Dracula smiled again, and turned his face a little so Van Helsing could see the horrible wound in his neck, the deep slashes down his cheek.

            "You…"

            "I cannot heal myself any longer," affirmed Dracula. "I must regenerate at a human's rate. The marks of the wolf remain as a reminder of why I am here."

            "What other powers have you lost?" demanded Van Helsing. He was beginning to feel a little better, Dracula's previous reaction to his gun explained.

            "I do not know fully," admitted the vampire, "but I know that I cannot create other vampires. My venom is now useless against your kind. My other form is mostly lost, but I do not know how much remains. Some does." He held up a hand, now bristling with needle-sharp talons. As Van Helsing levelled his gun he quickly sheathed them, laughing apologetically. "I am sorry, Gabriel. Please know that I mean you no harm; I bear you no ill will."

            Van Helsing was stunned, so much so that his gun dropped to his side and hung loosely from his hand. "You _what_? But I was the one who…"

            "…Twice," agreed Dracula, "and I was in a rage when I was delivered for the second time into the hands of the Devil. And yet, when I was sent here…somehow I lost that anger, the desire for revenge. I…I am starting to believe that you were justified, Gabriel. True, I desired only to bring life to my children, to let them feel the freedom of this world, to taste of pleasure and satisfaction, but at what cost? At the time, I did not care." His handsome face took on the look of a lost child, confused and irreparably lonely. "But now…"

            He could not bring himself to say it, Van Helsing could see plainly. At once, a great understanding came over him. The strange feeling he had felt in the courtyard…It was not the presence of Dracula, though the essence of Dracula was there. The feeling had been that essence, but now missing a very large deal of evil. Could God have touched this creature, however faintly? Or was it merely a result of the Devil's removal of certain powers? Van Helsing could only guess, but either way he found that he believed the vampire's story, every word of it. He holstered his gun and knelt down until he was face to face with his one time enemy.

            "Why here?"

            The vampire considered this. "It was a delicious bit of humour for him, I think, to place me on the steps of the Holy Order. You, of course, were second in the plan. He knew you would cause me suffering, by your hands or by turning me in to your so-called employers. He did not care which."

            Van Helsing felt a plan slowly forming in his mind, and he grinned wickedly. "And if I kept you safe from all of that….how would that please him?"

            "He would be furious, of course," said Dracula. "His entire plan would be for naught." He gave no indication that he thought Van Helsing actually planned to do what he had hinted at in his question, instead seeming quite resigned to a fate of torture and shame.

            _All the fight's gone out of him_, thought the hunter with awe. _How the mighty have fallen…_

            The wicked grin widened then, and Van Helsing held out his hand to help the vampire to his feet. Dracula stared at him in wary amazement, and then slowly took it, pulling himself up. He was featherlight; his hands were bloody—for once with his own blood.

            "I think," said Van Helsing, "that it's time to do a little of God's work, what do you say?"

            The vampire only stared at him with those fathomless obsidian eyes. He had never felt more helpless and confused in all the centuries of his existence. So far, his former master's plan was working.

            Van Helsing shook his head in amazement. Whenever he needed Carl, night or day, the good friar was always awake and willing to see his friend. Tonight was no exception, though he seemed rather confused at Van Helsing's sudden return.

            "Why are you back here so soon? Did you catch the…whatever it was?"

            "No, no," said Van Helsing, a little guiltily. "But Carl…I want you to come outside and see something for a minute, all right?"

            "See something? But Van Helsing, it's the middle of the night…"

            "You're awake anyway," said the hunter, waving a hand dismissively. He leaned foreward so no one else could overhear. "Carl… what if I told you that we had a chance to do the unthinkable, the true work of God himself? Something that, if done correctly, could earn you a sure-fire ticket to the pearly gates?"

            "Don't be blasphemous," began Carl, and then stopped, eyeing his friend with a mixture of curiosity and mistrust. "What do you mean, 'the true work of God himself'?"

            "What if I told you," continued Van Helsing, "that we could cheat the Devil himself?"

            Carl paled. "Um… but wouldn't cheating anyone be considered a sin? Even if it _is_ the Devil?"

            "Not if you do it merely by preventing the pain and suffering of another, it isn't."

            "Well…"

            "C'mon, Carl," Van Helsing cajoled. "You're the only one I can trust."

            Carl thought for a moment, and then he smiled. "All right," he said wearily. "I take it this all starts by showing me whatever you want to show me outside."

            "Yes, but first I need you to promise me two things, okay?"

            "Well, it depends on what two things—"

            "Promise me, one, that you will _not_ tell a single _soul_ about this," said Van Helsing. His words were heavy with conviction. "Not even Cardinal Jinette. Promise me."

            Carl sighed. "The things I do for you…okay, fine. I won't tell."

            "_Promise_."

            "I promise, okay?"

            "Second, you have to promise that you won't freak out."

            Carl jumped. "_What_? What do you mean, 'freak out'? What the hell are you going to show me, Van Helsing?!"

            "Shhh. Please, just promise me, okay?"

            Carl grunted.

            "_Carl…_"

            "All right, all right. I won't freak out. I'm really not going to like this, I can tell."

            "Hard to say yet," replied Van Helsing, and grabbed Carl's arm. "Come on—follow me."

            They crept through the quiet building until at last they reached the courtyard, and Van Helsing led his friend to the underhangings, holding tightly to his arm.

            "Get ready," he said, and then turned to the shadows. "You can come out now; there's no one else around but us."

            Carl watched, open mouthed, as the figure stepped out of the shadows. "Oh God," he breathed. "_Dracula_." Though Van Helsing kept a hand on the friar's arm, he had to admit that so far his friend was keeping his promise about not "freaking out". He only prayed that he would keep the other one.

            The vampire initially had his arms wrapped protectively around himself, but when he saw the friar he quickly adopted his usual, elegant air. "Hello, holy man," he purred.

            "My…my name is Carl," stuttered the friar, and whirled on his friend. "_Van Helsing_," he hissed.

            Van Helsing quickly explained in hushed tones all that he knew to Carl as the vampire looked on impassively. When he had finished, Carl seemed more at ease; if Van Helsing trusted that everything he said and knew was true, then Carl might as well do the same. After all, the hunter had never been wrong in his intuitions before. He hoped that, in this case, there was not a first time for everything.

            The vampire's ghastly wounds had not gone unnoticed by the friar, who resisted the urge to offer him help. Not yet, at any rate. After a moment Dracula caught him looking, but before Carl could look away the vampire's mouth curved into a genuine smile. A little shocked, Carl found himself smiling back, and thought that this might be the time to ask the creature—no, that was rude—to ask _Dracula_ a few questions of his own. As Van Helsing urged them both away from the underhangings and began to walk toward the city with his companions in tow, Carl turned to the vampire.

"So, why did the Devil send you  back here?" he asked timidly.

Dracula smiled at him again, though this time it never touched his dark eyes. "He was disgusted with my failure, so much so that he no longer thought me worthy to stand beside him in the kingdom of Hell. He denied me Purgatory, for neither he nor God thought me deserving of a chance to atone. And, of course, I will never be welcome in Heaven… After that, there was nowhere else for the Devil to send me but here."

Carl blanched slightly. "That must be…awful."

Dracula laughed. "Of course the idea of being denied a place in Heaven must be a horrible thought to a monk. I imagine it would seem worse to a holy man of your standing."

"Actually, I…I'm a friar," stuttered Carl, and instantly regretted correcting the count.

Dracula stared at him for a moment, and then simply laughed, swiping a lock of hair from his eyes. "Of course, my mistake." He turned to Van Helsing. "I like this one, Gabriel. He has…" He struggled for the words. "…much _life_ in him."

"That he does," muttered Van Helsing, and was there a tiny smile on his lips?

"So," said Carl, walking a few steps behind Dracula and Van Helsing. The night was rapidly running out, and the air was at its most chill. The square that led to Van Helsing's flat was silent and empty save for the three shrouded figures; even the rats had gone to sleep for the night. "You can't do all the things you could do before?" From the expression on his face it was obvious that the friar was hoping otherwise.

"No," replied the count, and pretended not to hear Carl's loud, relieved exhalation. He smiled despite himself. "Not all. The Devil sent me here as punishment, not for conquest. Many of my powers are lost. For instance, I can no longer regenerate wounds, as you can see. I must bear their pain and their slow healing. I cannot generate other vampires; he has condemned me…" The words were hard to say, but eventually he found the strength. "…to be the only one of my kind on this earth." Dracula fell silent for a moment, a moment which seemed to Carl to be one of the saddest ones in his life. Then he continued. "There are other powers I have lost, I am sure, but I have not found them out yet."

"That must be rough, I guess. But…can you still turn into that…that creature?"

"Not fully," Dracula answered dismissively.

Carl stopped. "What do you mean, 'not fully'?" He was expecting Dracula to answer him in the same cordial fashion as he had been doing all night. He did _not_ expect him to whirl around, eyes glowing yellow and open mouth bristling with needle-like teeth. Long talons had sprouted from his hands and a horrible hissing screech escaped him. Wings burst from his back. Nevertheless, he still greatly resembled his "human" form; gone were the abundant, powerful muscles, the aerodynamic shape, the batlike body. Yet Carl was terrified nonetheless, and looked quickly to Van Helsing, expecting to see him with his gun trained on the vampire. But instead the tall man stood motionless, watching them both with an odd sort of curiosity. He briefly wondered if he should stop expecting things of people.

It was bare seconds before Dracula returned to his slightly less threatening countenance and stood, studying him also. Carl stared at him a moment, and then whirled on Van Helsing.

"What the bloody hell were you doing, standing there with your thumb up your ass, Van Helsing?!" he demanded, thrusting a finger at the vampire beside him. "He could have killed me just then!"

_The freak-out begins, _thought Van Helsing, bemused.

"I thought monks were not supposed to swear," Dracula mused aloud.

Carl whirled on him, eyes blazing. "I told you, I'm a just a _friar_!"

Dracula shrugged carelessly. "So I forgot."

Van Helsing stepped between them then, placing a hand on Carl's twitching shoulder. "You've grown braver, Carl. You didn't run from him; you didn't even step back. That's what I was watching you for. And you only freaked out a little," he added, and there was a glint of humour in his eye.

"But…" Carl faltered, half pleased, half angry. The fight was rapidly going out of him. "But I could have been killed."

"He wouldn't have killed you, Carl," Van Helsing said lowly, gently. The hand on his shoulder squeezed reassuringly and his voice dropped to a whisper. "He's not like that anymore; all the fight seems to have been taken out of him, in a manner. I expect he only kills people to eat, and if you haven't quite noticed, he doesn't really seem to be in the proper shape to hurt anything. You were in no danger."

"How can you tell? That he's so _gentle _now, I mean," returned Carl in a whisper.

"I'll tell you later," said Van Helsing, smiling companionably at him, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Until then, let's keep going. The sun will be up soon."

At the mention of this, Dracula looked around nervously. "Gabriel, where are we going?"

"My place," said Van Helsing in a supplicating voice. "Don't worry. We're almost there."

Dracula nodded, looking uneasily at the sky. Dark strands of hair still framed his handsome face, shielding his eyes, but Van Helsing knew what he was looking at.

"Can you be killed by sunlight?"

Dracula turned to him, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "No," he said, after a long beat of silence. "But it does worse."

"Worse?" asked Carl, who in a fit of curiosity had forgiven the count. For now. "What could be worse than burning up in the sun?"

"I was asked if I could be killed by the sun, not if the sun could 'burn me up', as you say," replied Dracula slowly. "For it _will_ do just that, but I will not die. Do you understand?"

Both men nodded their understanding. Carl felt a little sick at the thought of being a charred, oozing husk and being unable to call upon death as a release. He wondered if Van Helsing, who looked utterly unfazed, had even bothered to think about that, and in the end decided that he probably had, if briefly. He often envied his friend for his ability to be so objective, something Carl had never been able to achieve. This was also a fine example of just how vindictive and cruel the Devil could be. He felt better about his promise, then.

They reached Van Helsing's modest flat a short time later, just as the eastern sky was beginning to bloom a gentle violet. As Carl closed the door behind them and locked it, as was Van Helsing's unwavering tradition, Dracula strode into the centre of the room, eyeing his surroundings critically. Van Helsing threw his long coat onto the coat rack and approached the vampire.

"It's nothing fancy like you're used to," he began, but Dracula held up an elegant hand, a laugh on his lips.

"And you tell that to one who is used to sleeping in a coffin," he said with black humour. Van Helsing grinned back at him. It felt good.

"Remember," he said, "I was at the Masquerade Ball. You know, your 'summer palace'?"

"Oh that," Dracula said, waving his hand dismissively. He appraised his surrounding again and let out a sigh. "It's not so bad, Gabriel. Though you could use thicker curtains…"

"The two back rooms have velvet curtains," said Van Helsing. " And there are shutters on the windows. You'll be safest from the sun in there."

Dracula appeared satisfied, and turned to Carl, who had stood beside the door since they entered. "You, friar—do you live here as well?"

Carl placed a hand on the doorknob. "Actually, I live in the Friary at the Vatican. Speaking of which, I should be going. It isn't well looked upon to be out at all hours of the night."

Both men caught Dracula's wince. Carl looked at him, confused. "What's the matter?"

            "We'll have to…take some precautions to ensure you don't get found out by the Holy Order or any members of the Vatican. Unless, of course, you don't behave yourself," said Van Helsing quietly.

Dracula laughed nervously. "It appears that I am at your mercy yet again, Gabriel."

"And don't forget it," said Van Helsing, but his voice was not as hard as his words.


	3. Chapter Three: Crossing Boundaries

**Chapter Three: Crossing Boundaries**

"So the Order gave you this house?" asked Dracula. "They did not make you pay?"

"Nope. It was the least they could do," grunted Van Helsing, throwing himself down on the sofa.

"I suppose if they are sending you out to kill things like me, they would have to provide a great restitution."

Van Helsing smiled slightly and gestured to the large, plush armchair that stood across from it. "Have a seat. Try to relax a little."

            "It is appreciated, but…" He gestured vaguely to his wounds.

            Van Helsing resisted the urge to slap his forehead. "I forgot about that!"

            "I would not want to spoil anything," the vampire said quietly, so quietly that anyone else would not have heard him. Van Helsing had impeccable hearing. He went to rise and fetch some medical supplies to treat the wounds as best he could, but a cold, firm hand on his shoulder forced him back down. He looked up into the fathomless black eyes of his former enemy and was pinned, transfixed like an insect on a pin.

            "Tell me, Gabriel," breathed Dracula. "What is the real reason you saved me?"

            "I…you were alone…hurt…"

            "I hardly think Gabriel Van Helsing, a man I once knew as the Great Enemy, would extend his hand in pity to a creature he twice risked his life to kill." The vampire's voice had lost most of its quiet passivity. Van Helsing could see the tiny glimmer of his former self pulse and brighten. It made him uneasy, but he was still pinned down with those eyes, and being before Dracula at this moment held the same profound solemnity than if he had been before God, awaiting his judgement. When the vampire spoke again he flinched, thinking for a brief wisp of time that it was indeed the voice of God. But no…it was only Dracula, conviction adding a certain thunder and gravity to his voice, though he had not raised it.

            "Tell me," he hissed, "about the little plan you mentioned very briefly in the square. You asked of the Devil, and mentioned undertaking a bit of 'God's work'. I have thought about it, Gabriel. I am not stupid. I am part of this 'plan', am I not?"

            Van Helsing sighed. "Yes."

            "And it has something to do with your current hospitality, yes?"

            "Yes. When I learned that the Devil had these great plans for your suffering and torture, and that I was to be included as an unknowing instrument in your punishment, I thought that there was a way to deny Lucifer the pleasure of seeing his plan succeed."

            "You wish to do God's work…But you never called yourself a holy man, Gabriel."

            "I did not, though some may consider me one. Holy man or not, I would rather do God's work than the Devil's, because it was the Devil who centuries ago got a hold on my best friend, and turned him into a monster."

            The silence was profound. Dracula stepped away from Van Helsing, whose body had fully tensed, half-expecting the vampire to become angry at his last statement, and possibly attack.

            Yet he did no such thing. Instead, he said softly, "So I am merely an instrument to you, am I, Gabriel?" The gentle sadness in his voice struck Van Helsing as though he had been run through. Those words, that voice, was the testament of a man betrayed, a man who had given up.

            Van Helsing could not stop himself from rising and going to Dracula, who flinched away from him. "Listen…"

            The vampire cut him off with a flinty laugh, the sadness suddenly gone, or at least well-hidden, and replaced with something very much like how he used to be. "You are quite like I was before you killed me this last time, Gabriel. I remember using a living creature to serve my purpose also…"

            Gabriel, who had been of the verge of placing a comforting hand on the vampire's shoulder, instead found himself raising it and viciously punching Dracula in his wounded throat. The vampire gave a choked cry of pain and fell against the wall, eyes glazing over instantly. The wounds bled afresh.

            "How dare you compare me to yourself, you evil, monstrous lunatic!" shrieked the hunter. "I have not wantonly slaughtered innocents! I have not enslaved, or taken of life as I pleased! I have not laughed in the face of dying creatures! How dare you compare me to you!"

            "Many have suffered or fallen to you, Gabriel," choked the vampire. Van Helsing had to strain to hear him, as he could hardly get the words out. "Many have suffered and fallen, yet you convince yourself that you have not touched nor tainted innocents." He smiled weakly. "What a lovely talent."

            "It is my curse," hissed the hunter, and kicked out, striking the vampire in the stomach. Dracula barely flinched, and bared bloody fangs in a rictus of fury, using the wall to haul himself to his feet.

            "I will not be part of this farce," he hissed. "I will not be the instrument of Gabriel Van Helsing. I do not have to stay in this accursed city!" He strode furiously out the door, not caring that daylight was in but an hour, and walked out into the night. Moments later Van Helsing, whose anger was rapidly deserting him, heard the heavy flapping of massive leathery wings.

            Dracula was gone.

            Despite their fight, Van Helsing began to grow a little worried as dawn came and the day bloomed bright. He wondered despite himself whether the vampire had really fled the city and had found shelter before the sun's rays could find him. What startled Van Helsing the most was that he found himself hoping that he had.

            Why did he hope for that creature's safety? After all that he said, all that he was…His words had been harsh, cutting as deeply as words can cut. It was, after all, his specialty. But beneath the surface of those words Gabriel found a haunting truth; those words had addressed the questions that hounded him day and night, questions and emotions that had led him to refer to his life as _my curse_. He knew, now that his anger had abated, that Dracula had not said the things he'd said merely as vicious retaliation for the revelation of his part in Gabriel's plan. It had spurred him to bring it up, yes, but it was as though Dracula was urging Van Helsing to bring these woes to light, not store them away to fester. Perhaps, had the vampire not gotten angry, he would have offered to help his former enemy, perhaps would have given Van Helsing a coveted piece of his knowledge of their past together.

            But that chance was gone, now. Van Helsing would never know of Dracula's true intentions, he would never be able to apologise to the vampire for his words, and for striking him the way he had. His insides twisted painfully when he remembered how he had struck and reopened the horrible wound, how he had kicked the creature when he was on the floor and helpless. It was unlike him, very unlike him. Or so he hoped.

            The day passed without event. Van Helsing made to trip to the Vatican to see Cardinal Jinette and report that he had seen no sign of the creature they hunted, but that he was keeping a whether eye out. Jinette was displeased, but not overly so. Even he had to admit that whatever they were looking for was extremely wily, and had a fantastic hiding spot. Van Helsing agreed, and vowed that he would flush it out and kill it, and that Jinette should not worry. He was rising to leave when Jinette stopped him.

            "Gabrielle," he said, and his face was very grave, "something is troubling you. What is the matter, child?"

            He had not referred to Van Helsing as _child_ since his very first days in the Holy Order. Startled, Van Helsing faced him, and said, "I must admit, my usual woes are weighing more heavily on me these past couple of days, Father. I have no idea why, and there is nothing else, so I have resigned myself to hoping that these troubles might recede soon."

            The Cardinal studied him. "You are sure that is all? That nothing can be done?"

            "I am. And I thank you for your concern, Father."

            Jinette nodded slowly, clearly still unsatisfied, but only watched, wordless, as Van Helsing left the confessional and exited the building.

            _Odd_, thought the Cardinal, _that he would not even visit his friend in the armoury_.

            Van Helsing returned home just as the sun was setting. He knew he should go look for the creature, and he wanted nothing more than to eradicate it as soon as possible, but for now he seemed so impossibly distracted that he decided to take the first part of the night off, to sit alone on his sofa and sip whiskey from a small glass tumbler. Edgar Allen Poe was in his hands, and the small fire burned industriously in the fireplace, and soon he found himself nodding off when all of a sudden there came a faint scratching at the door.

            He thought immediately of _The Raven_, and laughed at the perfect timing of whatever his guest might be. Setting down the book and the tumbler, he went to the door and opened it, peering out into the night. Oddly, there was nothing there but darkness and the rasping of crickets in the window-boxes, and the occasional far-off bark of a dog. Puzzled, he placed a hand on the door to shut it, when something clawed at his leg.

            Van Helsing jumped back and looked down, and gasped at the sight before him.

            Dracula lay on the doorstep, bathed in blood and whiter than even a vampire should be. The skin of his hands was burned in places, likely from the sun, and there were deep raking slashes through the cloth of his coat, right into his chest and side. Van Helsing thought he saw the gleam of exposed bone.

            "He has barred me in," gasped the vampire, clutching at Van Helsing ankle. "I tried to fly away, but as soon as I hit the limits of the city it was like I ran into an invisible wall. It surrounds the town." His voice grew suddenly very sad, and was thick with defeat. "So far his plan is working. I…had no choice but to come back here."

            Van Helsing leaned down and wordlessly placed a hand on the vampire's cold, smooth cheek. He held it there for a moment, the vampire seeming to take hesitant comfort in the gesture, and then he scooped the vampire up and brought him inside. He looked down at Dracula's handsome face as he made his way to the couch, and smiled. "We have much to discuss when you're feeling better," he said softly. "I have several things I want to ask you."

            Dracula returned the smile and nodded. His eyes began to close, but before they shut altogether he looked at Van Helsing and said, "By the way, Gabriel…I had a little run-in with this creature you are hunting. When we talk again I shall tell you how to find him."

            With that, the vampire closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter Four: Forging Bonds

**Chapter Four: Forging Bonds**

            Carl came knocking on the door a little past midnight, glancing nervously over his shoulder as he stood waiting for Van Helsing to open the door. "It's Carl," he called in a hushed voice.

            The door opened, the Van Helsing's frame filled the doorway. "Carl…what are you doing here so late? Come in."

            Carl was ushered into the house, the door shut and bolted behind him. "I'm sorry it's so late, but I was very very busy today and only now have gotten a chance to leave. Listen, I've come on Cardinal Jinette's orders. He's getting a little impatient about you finding this creature thing; he is afraid it will kill someone else soon."

            "Tell him," said Van Helsing, "That I'm doing my best." He glanced at the sofa. "I kind of have other things on my mind, but don't tell him that. He'll want to know."

            Carl nodded and leaned toward the sofa, looking. After a moment he drew back with a start. "What's wrong with Dracula?"

            The hunter sighed. "Speaking of that creature…he told me he had a run in with it while trying to escape the city."

            "Why would he be trying to escape the city in the first place?"

            "I'll tell you later; it's a long story. Let's just say we had a little fight, but everything's okay now."

            Carl rolled his eyes. "It begins."

            "And what's that supposed to mean?" came Van Helsing's voice; he had hurried into a back room. He emerged a minute later a bundles of medical supplies in his arms, and when Carl didn't answer him he regarded his friend with frustration. "I _said_, what's that supposed to mean?"

            Carl shrugged. "It's just that you two have been enemies for so long…even if he _is_ changed, I still expect you two to clash once in a while."

            "It was a…fluke," said Van Helsing, still defensive, and carried his burden over to the sofa, where he knelt down and dropped them. Carl went around and knelt next to him, taking stock of the vampire's injuries.

            "If this creature we're looking for can do this to the king of vampires, we've got a major problem on our hands," he mused.

            "We'll  find it. We'll kill it." He looked at Carl. "Can you sew?"

            "I happen to be rather highly trained in the area of medical treatment," said the friar proudly. He dropped his voice. "I kind of have to be, working with unstable chemicals and weapons, you know."

            "Good." Van Helsing smiled. "And I thought you'd be squeamish."

            "Why do you say that?" asked Carl indignantly. "I happen to be not at all squeamish, I'll have you know."

            "My mistake," said Van Helsing dismissively. "Help me then, Mr. Medical Training." He bent foreward and began to clumsily bandage a gash on the vampire's slim, pale arm. "Damn," he grunted. "Sorry buddy, this is the best I can do for you."

            "Move over," said Carl, shouldering him. "I'll do it." Van Helsing regarded him with surprise. "Hey, if you help all his bandages are going to end up looking like _that_ thing," he pointed to Dracula's arm, "and it would be an insult amidst my ministrations, damn it."

            Smirking, Van Helsing leaned back and watched, content to be out of the action for once. Carl's skills were admirable, and he was not lying about not being squeamish as he tugged tendons and flesh back over bone, stitching skin and muscle together as neatly as a seamstress, clipping off bits of un-sewable ragged flesh. So intent was he in his work that he didn't even stop to wipe his brow until he was halfway through. He looked up to give his eyes a break…

            …right into the obsidian eyes of the vampire.

            Carl squeaked and jerked back, leaning away from the sofa, fear shining in his eyes. He held his needle before him protectively, as though it would serve as a useful weapon should the vampire attack.

            Now awake, Dracula stared at the friar curiously, and looked down at his wounds. "I assume this is your handiwork?" he asked. There was a gentle humour in his voice.

            "Y…yes…" stammered Carl. "The sewing, I mean. Not the wounds."

            Dracula laughed. "I know you did not do those, little friar. A big great beast did those. You are very skilled." He looked rather impressed.

            Carl quickly overcame his initial fear, remembering how gentle the vampire seemed to be. "Does it hurt?"

            Dracula smiled. "Yes."

            "I…I'm sorry…"

            "Thank you, little friar, but you need not pity me. I have not felt so close to being a living thing in centuries."

            Awed, Carl only nodded and gestured to Dracula's wounds. "A mortal would never have survived those wounds, but you're not in great shape yourself, if I might be so bold to say. May I…continue?"

            "By all means. Thank you for your help." He smiled as Carl resumed his work, trying to be careful so as not to further hurt the vampire. After a while of quietly enduring this treatment, Dracula finally looked up at Van Helsing. "Thank you, Gabriel."

            "For what?"

            "For allowing the Devil's son back into your home."

            Van Helsing waved a hand. "You know, fear no evil, blah blah blah." He smiled at Dracula, and then his face grew serious. "You're welcome," he said. "Our words were equal; I cannot in good faith hold them against you, when I myself have sinned the same."

            Dracula laughed suddenly, so that Carl had to pause his sewing. "You never claim to be a holy man," he chuckled, "yet by God you speak like one, Gabriel."

            Van Helsing stared at him for a moment, and then, incredibly, he began to laugh too. He looked down at Carl to see the friar's shoulders shaking with silent mirth, and suddenly he felt a whole lot better about everything.

Because at least they could laugh.

The night wore on, and Carl worked tirelessly on the long task of seeing to Dracula, who sat still and patient, talking with him sometimes, other times with Van Helsing. Most of the time, however, he was quiet and subdued, his eyes on the windows as he watched for his enemy to rise in the east. Van Helsing could almost feel the thrumming of his thoughts, and figured that he probably appeared the same way to his former enemy, whose perceptions and powers in the matters of the mind far surpassed those of any man or beast. Yet he did not flaunt these powers, and remained humble in his own way. He wrinkled his nose as Van Helsing finally got up to pour himself a tumbler of whiskey, and the hunter made a small show of drinking it, knowing it disgusted Dracula.

            _God, we're like children_, he thought, and snorted into his glass. The vampire cocked his head curiously at him. His neck wound, which Carl had not gotten to yet, gleamed wetly in the low light of the room. Van Helsing felt a small chill touch him. _He died from that wound_, he thought. _And it is the last remnant of my time as a werewolf…and maybe the last remnant of his life of evil. God willing._ In a strange, sick way, he wanted it to remain as a reminder of these things. Then a disgust for himself overwhelmed him, and he quickly banished the foul thought from his mind, determined never to think it again.

            "Gabriel, Carl," said Dracula suddenly, his voice quiet and gentle in the silent room. Both men looked up at him curiously, and he smiled. "During my time in…stasis…I managed to pick up a little knowledge that I think you both might be gratified to hear. I have waited for the right time to tell you, but I can wait no more. Now is a good enough time, I think."

            "What is it, Vlad?" asked Van Helsing quietly, but he already knew what this was about. Carl turned his head and looked at him owlishly; never had the friar heard Van Helsing refer to Dracula by his first name.

            "You both knew the princess Anna Valerious," said Dracula, "and I know that at least one of you loved her quite dearly." He smiled at Van Helsing. "I also know that upon my resurrection your thoughts would be of her and her family, and your fears would be that they would not be allowed in Heaven, their pact with God negated upon my return."

            "I will admit, I feared that," whispered Carl, and gave a yelp as Van Helsing dove practically into his lap and seized Dracula by the hand, clutching it tightly to his face. His eyes were bright and feverish, his knuckles as white as his face.

            "Tell me," he begged, and there were tears filling his eyes for the first time since she had died. "Tell me it isn't so, Vlad. _Tell me_!" He dug his nails into the flesh of the vampire's hand and shook it violently.

            Dracula watched him for a moment, his face the picture of an untold sadness. But then he smiled slowly, and placed his other hand on his former enemy's head.

            "It isn't so, Gabriel."

            Both men stared at him for a moment, and then Van Helsing gave a choked cry and jumped to his feet, weeping fully now; tears of joy and profound, endless relief. How he had believed that the curse was reinstated! How he had thought that her death was for nothing, that it all had been for nothing! Carl was smiling happily and got up to hug his friend, who returned his embrace so enthusiastically that all the air was squeezed out of the friar, who really didn't mind at all.

            Amongst all this sat Dracula, watching them both with a small smile on his face, but in that smile was the deepest and most profound sadness that could have been expressed by a creature such as he.

            Finally, Carl returned to his place and Van Helsing sat across from Dracula, the whiskey in his hand again. He looked happier then Dracula had seen him in a very long time, last lifetime included. For that he was glad, but he felt rather uncomfortable, seeing, of course, that it had been he who was the fate of the Valerious'.

            "So she's in heaven," said Van Helsing hoarsely.

            "She is, and all her family. When my powers were stripped of me and I was unable to create conquest, the Lord saw to it that the pact stood. I remained vanquished from their lands, and they remain in heaven."

            Van Helsing closed his eyes and smiled. Then he opened them again, but his smile did not fade. "It feels as though you've given me a great gift, my friend," he said.

            If Dracula could have gone paler, he would have. His mouth opened a little in shock.

            "What's the matter?" asked Van Helsing, leaning foreward concernedly. He made as if to rise, but Dracula shook his head.

            "No one," said Dracula distantly, "has called me 'friend' in over four hundred years, Gabriel. It appears as though you have given me a gift, as well."

            The two of them, beast and hunter, smiled genuinely at one another, and so it was that the bond was forged.


End file.
